


if the years are all gone

by shanyuan



Series: into the burgisverse™ [2]
Category: Burgisverse
Genre: 4+1, Backstory, F/F, F/M, Gen, High School, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28552863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanyuan/pseuds/shanyuan
Summary: The four people in Katya Natasha's past that she so desperately wanted to love without going through the woes of heartbreak, and the one person she finds worthy of the risk.
Relationships: Katya Natasha Arlovskaya & Nicholas Aliaksei Orlovski, Katya Natasha Arlovskaya/Alfred F. Jones, Katya Natasha Arlovskaya/Andrius Jokūbas Laurinaitis, Katya Natasha Arlovskaya/Emilijā Elzbieta Laurinaityte, Katya Natasha Arlovskaya/Zao Yang
Series: into the burgisverse™ [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122821
Kudos: 2





	if the years are all gone

**Author's Note:**

> credits to both aysel & yumi for their sunshine ocs. thanks for bringing the best out of my muses. so true.

Natasha welcomed the fresh breeze that arrived alongside the coming of the rainy season with a half-open blouse and a gray skirt. 

Their school uniform was annoying, she could vaguely recall thinking silently to herself the moment she tried it on right before freshman year; it was loose on her waist, tight on her arms, and above all, the fabric was too thick for the unbearable weather in this godforsaken country. She complained about it the second she went out of her room to showcase it to her parents—but they responded only with a disappointed breath, along with the words, “Nicholas never complained about it—neither should you.”

She scoffs quietly under the shade of the tree behind the cafeteria. Natasha was a sophomore now.

“Well, aren't you a damsel in distress?” Zao Yang, captain of the varsity for their basketball team, waved at Natasha through one of the open windows in the canteen. Natasha cocks an eyebrow, draping her green jacket on top of her body before quickly snapping her gaze to the male; a smirk etching itself on her glossed lips.

“You think so?” She laughs heftily. “Bring me over a soda to ease my discomfort, then.”

Zao shakes his head evidently, pointing to the boys behind him wearing similar jackets. Natasha only nodded in response. He was with his teammates—and while Zao liked going on secret dates with the girls on campus, he liked it better when he was alongside his peers.

“I'm starting to think you see me more as a vending machine rather than your charming savior,” his tone is teasing. She doesn't mind, not at all, because she found his demeanor both cute and entertaining. “This is the fifth time this week that you've asked me to buy you a drink. And it's only Wednesday.”

She feigns a dramatic gasp, pompously turning her head to the side, letting her soft locks of blonde hair bounce with her gestures. “How dare you? A vending machine is a downgrade. I see you more as a refrigerator, captain.”

“Is that because I'm cool?” He shoots her with a harmless finger gun.

Natasha grins, from ear to ear. “No. It's because you let people take shit from you until you're all out.”

Droplets of rain began to parade on the top of her leather shoes; soon, she hangs her head low, reaching out with a tissue on hand to wipe away the liquid. When her eyes turned to meet Zao's, he had a goofy smile on his expression.

“That was pretty personal, Katya.” He begins, leaning against the window pane. “You must be starting to like me too much.”

Her chest is throbbing with the usual ache.

Katya Natasha lets her hands close the top buttons of her blouse, feeling the cold of the rain slipping in through the sloppy threads of her uniform.

She is discontent when she says, “Sorry, Zao, but I could never like you.”

* * *

The school was getting duller with each passing quarter.

No, scratch that, it was getting duller by the  _ second.  _ High school in movies looked so, so fun—but it was vastly different in real life. For one, Katya Natasha wasn't the captain of the cheerleading squad. She wasn't the athletic girl who also happened to be on top of the class. No one picked her up from school with a Bentley. She wasn't dating the most popular person in school.

Raīna Lucija was the cheer captain. Natasha didn't mind all that much, if she were to be honest, but her parents have always expressed their distaste whenever they're reminded of that fact. Natasha was lackluster compared to the other girls in school. She heard her father whisper that against her mother's ears, one night, but she chose not to let it get to her. She untangled her body from the sheets of her bed and she rose until her feet touched her cold, cold floor, until she could feel her person roaming about the many halls of their mansion in Manila. She would greet the maids a good morning, she would praise the chef in charge for breakfast, and she would kiss her parents as soon as she entered the premises of their dining room. She'd sweep everyone off their feet at school. She'd stay attentive in class; take notes, highlight passages, bookmark important pages, just so she could go home and tell her family she did her best today. And once her body reaches the comforts of her bed, she would let her tears cascade down her cheeks until she had to change her pillowcase for the nth time that week.

High school was a mess.

“What do you want to get?” Andrius Jokūbas stares at Natasha with his crystal green optics, the smile on his face never once faltering. His necktie was undone. His socks were mismatched, and Natasha was pretty sure his laces were untied.

She didn't mind, not at all, because he looked cute enough to please people.

Andrius has been chasing after her for years—it was fun, at first, because he followed her around as if she was the reason for his existence. His eyes sparkled when she held his hand. He was breathless, next to her. She may not have felt the same way towards him, but there was still satisfaction whenever she rekindled the fleeting hope of his feelings for her.

“Just hibiscus tea for me,” she tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear—and once her smile graces Andrius' eyes, she sees the high points of his cheeks flare up with red. “And some french toast.”

He nodded with vigor, soon insisting for Natasha to take a seat.

Her journey to their table proved to be just enough time for none other than Erika Melyna and Maksim Nikolai to enter the café they were in.

“Katya?” Her little brother of two years calls out to her, a questioning brow lingering on his expression. “I thought you had cheer practice today?”

Natasha cradles her backpack in her arms. “Coach cancelled at the last minute,”

That was a lie.

Maksim only nods in response, however, soon heading straight to the cashier, urging Erika (his best friend ever since the first day of freshman year, apparently) to take a seat next to Natasha for the time-being. She obliges, of course, waving sheepishly at Katya.

Something about her irked Natasha—she just couldn't put her finger on it.

“Erika Melyna, right?” She smiles at her companion. “I hope Maks isn't giving you too much trouble,”

The younger of the two flushes in place; a wide grin settling onto her expression as she fiddled with her fingers. Soon, Erika shakes her head dismissively, a more confident smile taking over her pale lips. Natasha eyes her with interest.

“He isn't,  _ Ate _ Katya.” Erika averts her gaze to Nikolai, who was now messing with Andrius as he ordered. “He's been nothing but wonderful to me.”

Natasha pauses in place. 

“Color me surprised. Maks doesn't really handle new people well.” Relaxed, Natasha lets her fingers run through her hair. “He must like you  _ very _ much, Eri.”

Erika's shoulders stiffen almost immediately. Katya's suspicions are confirmed when the female raises her right hand to envelope her burning cheeks.

“You're adorable,” Natasha chuckles softly. “I just hope Maksim doesn't end up turning you away—he has a habit of unintentionally hurting the people around him, you know?”

Her heartbeat is erratic when she finishes her statement.

Erika doesn't flinch—she doesn't yield, she was unlike the other people Nikolai hung around with. Instead, she lets the corners of her lips tug upwards to form a fond grin, her shoulders deflating as she stared at Nikolai from afar.

“That's okay with me,” she releases a satisfied sigh; Natasha hasn't had one of those in a while—so it only adds fuel to her dislike for this particular person. “You love until it hurts. Have you heard of that saying?”

Natasha lets her eyes flutter close to hide the remnants of her displeasure.

The last thing she sees is the glint of happiness found in the grin of none other than Andrius Jokūbas, who was lightly waving at Natasha when he caught sight of her stare.

Katya scoffs quietly.

“That's the first time I've heard of it, actually.”

* * *

Natasha's parents have been significantly lenient towards her and her younger siblings ever since Nicholas graduated from high school. His ceremony was filled with their parents scolding them silently at the back of the auditorium, questioning them why their grades weren't as high as their brother's, telling them that they needed to measure up to his level if they wanted to succeed in life. Natasha desperately wanted to throw her high heels at their principal and leave the venue bare-footed, to end the dragging program, once and for all.

Senior year for Katya Natasha started last week.

“What's wrong, Kat?”

Natasha doesn't cower away when Emilijā Elzbieta reaches out to cup her cheeks. The July breeze blows away the hems of their coats, warmth engulfing the two of them whole as they hide behind one of the arches in the rooftop of their school.

“Why do you ask?” 

The brunette only beams at her, clasping her hands together behind her back. She leans against the arch, gaze falling to the concrete as she opens her mouth to reply.

“No reason. You just look a little disheartened.” 

She openly chuckles at that, rolling her eyes as she catches a glimpse of Emilijā's face distorting into something akin to embarrassment. The two of them have been friends ever since she could remember. They used to spend a week in Vilnius when they were kids, because Emi's parents and Natasha's own were business friends; and they would run around the fields in the summer, take pictures of birds, catch insects just to purposefully scare Andrius and Nikolai. 

Even as the years went by in hazy blurs, Emilijā remained vivid in her memory.

“Just worried about college entrance exams, I guess?” Katya's tone is uncertain; in truth, she wasn't too worried about that, primarily because she knew she was going to pass them one way or another. 

“That's still several months away,” the Lithuanian female says in an attempt to soothe her nerves—it wasn't as comforting as it should have been for Natasha, but she appreciated the thought. “I'm sure you'll do great.”

Natasha leans her head on her companion's shoulder, “You believe in me too much.”

The bell that signified the end of their lunch break resonated within the halls of the school; but she could still hear it faintly as it rang, even though she was on the rooftop. Natasha makes the first move, prying herself off of the wall to finally head inside and attend to her next class, but she quickly stops in place as soon as she feels the warmth of Emilijā's hand cloak the skin of her wrist.

“Will you be okay?”

The concern present inside Emi's eyes frightened Katya more than anything.

In a futile attempt to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest, she clutches the fabric that covered her chest tightly.

Emilijā softens as soon as Natasha flashes her a grin.

“Don't worry about me, Emi.”

But for the first time ever since they've met, Natasha desperately wanted her to keep on caring.

* * *

His hands were shaking.

24th of December. It was seven in the evening in Minsk when Nicholas Aliaksei knocked over one of the many vases displayed inside his bedroom; the shards were sparse across his floor. Still, he chose to pace around the area nonchalantly, as if the socks on his feet weren't getting riddled with crimson with each step he took atop the broken glass. His phone was tight around his left hand. His reading glasses were thrown sloppily on top of his messy bed, and his coffee was dripping down from the edge of his desk.

Katya Natasha lets the door to his room close with a sharp click.

“Sei,” her tone is wavering. “What's wrong? Sei. Calm down.”

He doesn't. He takes a shallow exhale; sucking in the insides of his cheeks, almost as if he didn't hear what she said.

Natasha walks towards him—closer, and closer, until she could feel the pointy tips of the glass pieces pierce the bottoms of her slippers. She doesn't mind. She tugs on his wool sweater, forcing him to stop walking, her eyes avoiding the small drops of blood on the floor.

Nicholas turns to her with panicked eyes.

“It's Zao. Anica's back.”

She pales up as soon as he finishes talking. “Alright, okay. I see. What's the situation? Why are you...”

Her mind is blurry. She is out of words. But his lungs were getting emptier with each inhale he had trouble keeping in—she knew then that whatever she was feeling at the moment was irrelevant.

“He's not answering my calls. Or Feng-mian's calls. He's drunk and alone. Gods, should I book a flight home? I don't think—”

Natasha shakes her head. Nicholas keeps muttering under his breath, beads of sweat filling his forehead as he falls stagnant on top of his newly stained carpet. Natasha makes a run for his medicine cabinet, quickly calling out for Natalya's name in the hallway before leading Nicholas to his bed.

“You're bleeding.” She was bleeding too, but surprisingly enough, she wanted to take care of Aliaksei first. “It'll be alright. He'll be okay. Gods, Sei, I'm so sorry.”

She didn't know what she was sorry for.

Was she sorry because he was experiencing something like this? He's usually been prim and proper, after all. The only times his composure fell apart was during situations that warranted his emotional intelligence to be put to good use—and those were rare; because he avoided needless social interactions, he avoided forming emotional connections because he knew that logic proved to be unnecessary when it came to people and relationships. He clung onto logic as if it was the only thing he valued.

Was she sorry because she knew she did this to him?

Memories of company parties from when they were younger flashed inside her head like a movie she didn't want to watch. Aliaksei never liked talking in front of crowds of people. But she would push him onto the stage with a glass of sparkling water on hand, calling out for the attention of guests, forcing him to sputter out nonsensical words of gratitude in front of business clients he didn't know. He would cower behind a curtain subsequently after—and then he would lock himself inside his room until the party inevitably concluded. And Natasha would greet him the day after, pretending as if she didn't give him an emotional whiplash the night prior.

The sound of his breathing was eerily deafening.

Nicholas buries his face in his hands, his expression solemn, but just as Natasha was about to reach out and hug him as tight as she could, Natalya enters the room and heads to Nicholas in a rush.

Her regret is evident only to herself when she exits his room an hour later.

* * *

The nights in Manila were beginning to get colder.

Fortunately, the vodka she'd been drinking for two hours now heated up her body. The familiar warmth of alcohol settled comfortably within her, proving to be effective in relieving herself of the cold.

Alfred F. Jones was seated beside her; a separate bottle of beer on hand, hesitantly taking a few small sips from time to time. He looked prettier under the dim lights of the club—at least, to her, that is. But perhaps that was only because she knew she was the only one who was able to see him clearly today.

She laughs quietly to herself. She was as selfish as she was intoxicated.

“You're not going to drink hard today?” She asks him. She does her best to keep her words from getting slurred—formulating coherent responses inside her head.

“Can't, babe. I'm driving you home tonight.” His grin was relaxed; she instinctively backs away, keeping her eyes plastered on the floor, primarily because of the looming sense of unfamiliarity that clouded her chest whenever she saw him fashion his usual smile.

He was too delicate, too beautiful, and she was a wreck.

“You're too nice to me,” she stifles her misery, fighting back the tears she's been keeping in for the past few weeks. “Seriously, Alfie, even when you shouldn't be.”

She lays her forehead gently on top of the surface of the bar, the sound of Alfred's amused chuckles echoing comfortably against her ears. If her cheeks gradually grew warm because of his laughter, then she would never admit that. 

“To be fair, you're nice to me, too.”

She turns her head to the side, brown eyes piercing through his blue ones, raising her right brow in the process.

“Maybe.” A frown takes over her pale lips. “But the difference is you're actually a  _ genuinely _ nice person. I'm not.”

She pries her gaze away from him thereafter, choosing to remain reserved for now. Through the corner of her optics, she could vaguely see Alfred bring the mouth of his beer bottle closer to his lips.

“I think you should give yourself more credit,”

She scoffs. “It's the truth. I wish I could be as nice as you, you know? But I just…”

Natasha raises her head, soon taking a swig from her shot glass. The liquid burned her throat, but she was grateful, all the same, because it briefly took her mind off of her needless thoughts.

“I don't know where to begin.” At this, she begins to laugh at herself—she sounded so disgustingly pathetic inside her head, she was almost glad she wasn't going to remember this conversation in the morning. “How do you make it up to the people you've hurt?”

She doesn't see the worry that gradually bloomed in Alfred's expression; too caught up in wallowing in her misery.

“What?” He asks. “What's the problem, Tasha?”

_ I've fucked with the lives of the people around me. _ Those words uninvitedly repeat themselves inside her head, taunting her until she wanted nothing else than to pass out from the intoxication. Alas, Katya was too frightened to admit her faults out loud.

“I've done a lot of bad stuff in the past.” Her skin felt agonizingly numb. “Even if I want to repent for them, I don't know if I can. I think my pride won't let me.”

The boisterous music in the establishment drowned away the rapid sound of her beating heart. She was surprised she could still hear Alfred's voice with all the noise going around. 

But she could make out his voice anywhere, she thought to herself, but she wasn't willing to profess that aloud, still.

“Take it one step at a time.”

Natasha peers at him again, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

He turns his body to face her, his chin lying comfortably on top of his palm. “You can start by showing them you're regretful.” He nods after, a comforting smile adorning his expression. Her shoulders instinctively relax, her eyelids drooping until she could only see the faint lights of their surroundings.

“You'll make it harder for yourself and for the people you've hurt if you do it all at once,” he reaches out to entwine their hands, giving it a light squeeze. “Do it when you're ready.”

She bites on the seams of her bottom lip, now proving to be unable in keeping her tears from spilling out. Katya Natasha, for the first time in years, lets her powdered cheeks get tainted with the trails of her hurt. She doesn't wipe them away—she doesn't bother stifling them.

She cried in his embrace. Both for the swirling remorse lingering inside her chest, and the heartache that arrived the moment Alfred started to cradle her in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> title is inspired from a song by lav called “from me, the moon.”
> 
> <3


End file.
